Ensnared (Splintered, #3)(4)
The beetle makes an angry gurgling sound. “Doesn’t matter if my body is made of rugs. My mind works just as well as yours.”
“Obviously not. You’ve forgotten what Morpheus told you. I’m royalty.”
“Ah, but Morpheus isn’t here, is he?”
I struggle to think of a comeback, but the memory of why Morpheus isn’t here ices through me, making my tongue as ineffective as a slab of frozen beef.
“You’re nothing more than a royal pain,” the conductor taunts. “You are aware we’re under an iron bridge? Netherling magic is limited here. It’s why we store the lost memories in this place—to keep them safe. So you can’t force me to do anything. And I won’t get squashed under the thumb of Queen Red for a scrawny, powerless half-blood snippet.”
A hot flash of pride pulses through me, defrosting my tongue. “Maybe you should worry more about being trapped than being squashed.”
I call upon the firefly chandeliers overhead, envisioning them as giant metal jellyfish. Chains rattle and bolts snap loose from the ceiling. The harnesses pop open, releasing their firefly captives. Thrilled to be free, the glowing insects bounce and spiral around the car like a planetarium show on steroids. The other passengers screech and burrow under their seats.
Yelping, the conductor tries to back away as the chandelier contraptions swim toward us through the air—their metal tentacles propelling them in a graceful yet disturbing display. I duck and the chains capture the bug, knocking off his hat and thrusting him toward a wall. The bolts snap into place and form a giant metal net. He’s pinned inside, high enough that his legs dangle off the ground.
The fireflies hover and cast a soft glow.
Teeth clenched, I fish the key from beneath the conductor’s fallen hat along with the bag of peanuts. “There’s a new queen in town.” I glare up at him. “And because of my human-tainted blood, my magic is unaffected by iron. So Red’s got nothing on me.” I start toward Queen Red’s door.
“Wait,” the beetle pleads. “Forgive my impertinence, Your Majesty. You’ve made a fair point. But I’m the conductor. I must protect the reserves of lost memories from the stowaways. Let me down, I beg of you!”
I swivel on my heel to face the others. They peer out from under their seats—eyes ogling, tails drooping, hair frizzed—sneezing and trembling in fear.
The conductor whimpers as I toss the bag of peanuts at him. It snags inside one of the chains close to his left arms.
“He’s on his lunch break,” I tell the passengers. “Anyone who leaves their seats for any reason will have to deal with me. Are we clear?”
The stowaways answer with a collective nod and cautiously settle back into their places. A tendril of satisfaction unfurls within me.
Smirking, I slip the key into place, and open the door to my enemy’s past.
The instant I shut the door behind me, all my confidence wavers.
The room is small and windowless. An ivory tapestry hangs above a cream-colored chaise lounge and a tall lamp stands beside it, casting a glow on the checked floor.
An almond scent drifts from the moonbeam cookies that always seem to be waiting on a plate. As hungry as I am, I can’t eat them. Everything is too painfully familiar here.
I hugged Jeb and Mom in this place, felt their love as they embraced me back. My arms ache with longing. On the opposite wall, red velvet curtains wait to open and unveil hidden snippets from the past. I viewed my parents’ love story on this train, watched Jeb’s memories, too. I walked in their heads and wore their emotions as if they were mine.
I felt Mom’s change of heart when she gave up the ruby crown to give my dad a chance at life . . . even saw Morpheus as he helped her, carrying my dad through the portal into the human realm, despite that it was putting all of his meticulous plans at risk. I experienced Jeb’s nobility and courage when he turned his back on his future so I could have one instead.
So many sacrifices have led to this moment. I would do anything to reverse the clock and set things right. But time is merciless.
“Time. You’ll have no such constraints in Wonderland. Let that be your silver lining. Now pull yourself together. We must prepare for Red.” Those were Morpheus’s words on prom night, mere hours before everything fell apart. The message is so resonant, it’s as if he were connected to my mind; but that’s impossible with the iron dome between us. Still, it makes sense that his insight echoes through my soul when I’m teetering at the edge of insecurity, considering he’s Wonderland’s wisdom keeper, the custodian of all things mad and daring.
Jeb is an anchor; he holds me grounded to my humanity and compassion. But Morpheus is the wind; he drags me kicking and screaming to the highest precipice, shoves me off, then watches me fly with netherling wings. When Jeb’s at my side, the world is a canvas—unblemished and welcoming; when I’m with Morpheus, it’s a wanton playground—wicked and addictive.
Each guy occupies a different side of my dual heart. Together, they bridge my netherling and human worlds. What I’m supposed to do with that knowledge, I’m not sure. And unless my dad emerges from his room with memories intact, I might never get the chance to figure it out.
Tears prick my eyes for the first time in weeks. I’ve become good at hiding my despair. It was part of my crazy act for the asylum—to appear numb and detached. But that’s the furthest from how I feel.